Woad and Knight
by sarika
Summary: (Chapter 10 - Unmistakable Bonds) Aranwen becomes Merlin's apprentice while the orphan, Lucan, fights to be worthy enough for Dagonet's sword - and knighthood. But this might not come to pass when Arthur's half-sister, Morgaine, intervenes.
1. Prologue

**Woad and Knight**

**Author's Note** - I posted the beginning of this story a few days ago and then rewrote it. My previous beginning wasn't good so I decided to make it darker and focus on two characters instead of one. This takes place after the film and focuses on two characters: Lucan, who was just a little boy in the movie but is now much older in this story. The other is Guinevere's daughter, Aranwen. Let me know what you think. The prologue is named after the song by Moya Brennan from the official soundtrack.

**Summary -** Aranwen becomes Merlin's apprentice while the orphan, Lucan, fights to be worthy enough for Dagonet's sword - and knighthood. Both seek a way to carry out their destinies. Lucan / OC. Rated 14A for future war / torture violence, suicide and mild language.

**Disclaimer -** I do not own any of the character featured in 'King Arthur'. I own nothing but my original characters.

**Prologue - Tell Me Now (What You See)**

It had been almost eighteen years since he had last attempted to pull the sword from the burial mound. _"You know where the sword is," _Arthur had told him all those years ago._ "When you are stronger, come back for it." _And so there he was, alone as it were, feeling as weak and as hopeless as he once had been with nothing but the restless wind around him to whisper sarcastic assurances in his ear and nothing but the countless burial mounds surrounding him to remind him of the things he had tried for so long to forget about.

"Lucan," a soft voice called from behind him. He did not need to turn around to know who it was. A hand smaller than his own rested itself delicately upon his aching shoulder. She did not say another word. All he heard from her was a sorrowful sigh that seemed to imitate the lonesome, melancholy noise that was the wind. Now, it wretched and howled and the sound of it alone was enough to make him tremble with cold underneath his worn tunic. He wanted someone to speak - he wanted to hear her voice in the hopes that it would comfort him.

"Speak to me, Aranwen," he murmured. He did not turn to look at her for he did not want her to see the tears that streamed down his dirtied face. How pathetic he felt, just like that little boy once long ago. He stared, lost, at the sword before him that protruded from the burial mound that still seemed fresh to him even after almost two decades. He fell to his knees in hopelessness and wondered if he could gather the courage to try again - to accept the burden he was so eager to take on eighteen years ago.

"What would you like me to say?" Aranwen responded quietly, her voice in a low, almost fragile, whisper. She ran her fingers through his sand-coloured curls as Guinevere, her mother, had done to him when he was a boy. Aranwen let another sigh escape her lips and knelt down beside him on the dewy grass.

"For years... years I have prepared myself for this moment. Your father told me to return when I was stronger - to get the sword in which I had dreamt of having in my possession for so, so long. And yet I wonder, even after all of my hard work, if I can truly claim the title of 'strong' in his eyes. Stronger was not good enough for me... it was never good enough," Lucan reached out to brush the hilt of the sword with his finger. Aranwen placed her hand upon his own and gently encouraged him to grab it.

"I do not think that matters to Dagonet," she said gently though the name on her tongue was alien to her. She had not yet been born when this great knight fell though Lucan had spoken countless times of the solemn warrior who had cared for him when the others would have left him to die.

"I only knew him for a short while, Wen," he said, addressing her with a long unheard childhood nickname. Her heart warmed at the sound of it and it reminded her momentarily of how things used to be. "For just a short while," Lucan repeated. "And yet I felt as if I had known him for all my life. Am I strong enough to take the sword, Aranwen? Am I truly strong enough?" at this, he finally looked at his female companion. He stared into her eyes, one the colour of bark and the other an ancient emerald, and betrayed a weak smile.

"I think you are," Aranwen told him. Lucan slowly reached out and wiped the smudge of blue from her cheek. Her expression turned dark and solemn suddenly. She looked north of where they were and trembling, placed her hand on the dagger that hung faithfully at her belt.

"I hear the drums," she said. Her voice did not give way to her fear. She stood up and with a fierce determination in her unearthly eyes, motioned for Lucan to hurry. "You must be quick, Lucan!" she urged. "If you will not take the sword now when you have the chance, the chance may never fall upon you again! Do it for Dagonet, Lucan... take it now!"

"They cannot come now... Aranwen..." his voice faded suddenly as his ears finally picked up the monotonous, almost eerie, beating of an unseen battle drum. He had not the senses Aranwen had. She seemed to hear everything that naught but the wind could carry. She listened to nature, as was the natural instinct of any Woad. Aranwen, who had seemed just a mere child just barely passed the latter half of her girlhood just three years ago, was now a woman. He looked down at the hand still resting at his shoulder. It was worn and beaten - each finger appeared as if they had been twisted and broken. The same thing happened to her mother, he thought sadly. He still remembered Guinevere's tortured screams and the lies that were her confessions. He remembered them still after all this time.

"They are coming now," she said through clenched teeth. "They come and they come - they never leave. And they will keep coming, Lucan, unless we can gather our courage to fight them. We must finish the battle our fathers and mothers started. We must be brave... even if it means we shall be brave until death. My mother was not afraid to die and so I should not." But there was a trace of fear in her eyes. For a moment, Lucan admired the way her raven hair blew wildly about her head. Her confidence gave him courage.

_Will I take the sword now?_ he thought. Arthur's words returned to him. _"You know where the sword is... when you are stronger, come back for it."_ Then, he remembered words uttered more recently. _"Decide where you belong, Lucan. Decide what is yours, what you will give and what you will take. Decide where you will go and do not dwell on the places you have been... or the things that have been. Everything changes and you must know that and understand."_ Lucan remembered his reply.

_"But, uncle, it is like the great wheel in the sky. It turns and turns... always different with each constellation - with every night and every day, with every spring, summer, autumn and winter. But eventually, we will end up where it all began."_

"For Dagonet," he said with determination. "For my father," he uttered under his breath. "The only father I have ever known in this lifetime." He took the hilt of the sword, which would have looked plain in the eyes of ordinary men but looked grand in his eyes, and pulled it upwards with all his might. Arthur had did the same with his own father's sword, he reminded himself. He pulled it from the burial mound and held it triumphantly with his right hand high above his head. Dagonet would be proud, he hoped.

"They are coming," Aranwen repeated, this time her voice quavered out of anticipation. She pulled her crimson cloak more tightly about her in the merciless cold. Then, she pulled her wild hair hastily into a tamed knot at the back of her neck and adorned it with the one feather she had earned during her few days of battle. She grasped hold of the wooden bow she had strapped to her back and pulled it free.

"You will take your own father's sword into battle, Aranwen?" Lucan asked, casting his eyes down so as not to meet her mournful ones. There had been no time to drive Arthur's sword into his grave. There was not even time to burn his body as had been done to the others who rested in Badon Hill. When he finally looked at her, she was holding Arthur's Excalibur. She did not speak for the words, though unsaid, were there on her face. _Little Arthes_, he thought of her silently, calling her by what Arthur had always called her by - a word that meant 'little she-bear' or 'little Arthur'.

The drums grew louder as the wind grew stronger and the shrill call of a foreign horn sounded almost too abruptly for comfort. The sun was finally visible over Hadrian's wall though it hung in the sky half hidden behind a dismal cloud. It was as if the sun did not want to see the events that were about to unfold. _But it has seen many battles_, Lucan told himself. _Surely this one was not so different._

"Are you ready?" Aranwen asked him. She looked hastily towards the forest with the knowledge that they were not truly alone. Then, facing Lucan, she held out her arm, which was covered in intricate designs of blue, and took his hand in her grotesque fingers. Suddenly, he pulled her close as if he never wanted to let her go. "Big brother..." she murmured. Somehow, the words stung him bitterly but he nodded his head with a forced courage, almost doubting himself all over again.

"Yes," he said gravely, his heart beating in the rythm of the drums, "I am ready."


	2. I Spinning Her Web

**Author's Note -** Much thanks to _MustangGirl_ and _BrokenShells_ for reviewing the first chapter of my story. Chapter one will bring attention away from our main characters and will focus on what happened before Aranwen's birth. I apologize to those who dislike it when traditional characters (not in the movie) are drastically altered (though solely for the purpose of the story).

**Chapter 1 – Spinning Her Web**

_17 years earlier,_

Morgaine's fingers had become so accustomed to spinning that she once boasted that in the dark, she would have spun a perfect thread. Dark, tangled hair fell upon her hands as she bent her head over her work. Nothing could be heard in the room save for her raspy breathing, the sound of her spinning and the occasional crackling of the fire in the hearth. She was alone – not that she disliked being alone for Morgaine much preferred to work in the solitary silence. She clenched her teeth in anticipation for as she glanced out of the window, she saw the snow as it fell upon the hills. Soon, her half-brother, Arthur, would have a new child to welcome into his family. A child, she knew, who would be reared in the ways of its mother, Guinevere.

Morgaine hummed a low tune as she worked, unaware that there was two shadows cast onto the wall behind her. All of a sudden, a cold, sharp edge was pressed against her throat. Morgaine did not cry out and nor did she gasp. Her hands remained steady in her lap and she did not even question whoever was behind her to know who it was.

"Guinevere," she said calmly. The hand that grasped the knife below her chin trembled slightly as if in anger. Morgaine continued her spinning.

"You are not surprised that I am not dead, Morgaine?" Guinevere hissed. She grasped hold of the older woman's hair and pressed her cheek to hers with a fiery rage in her eyes.

"I do not know what you are talking about," Morgaine replied without even an attempt to sound innocent. She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she were about to say something of great importance. Guinevere snarled, her mouth close to Morgaine's ear.

"In my clan, all of the girls were raised to have knowledge of herbs and plants, Morgaine. We were the ones to introduce such a lore to the ignorant strangers of this land, were we not?" Each time Guinevere said her name, there reflected in her voice was a dangerous rage. "Next time you attempt to put poison in my food, do it discretely. You think I am as foolish as that? I know your thoughts... I know what you think of me. I swore to myself that next time you attempted such a deed, I would slit your throat. You know Arthur is not so fond of you that he would mourn your passing with great remorse."

"It was not poison," the other woman confessed in her dry, subtle way.

"You have been trying to rid me of the child in my womb since you arrived, Morgaine! How do you know that I will not die if you succeed? And you, you who has adopted the Christian faith, murderer of children?"

"I wish that my brother would have thought things through more carefully before he decided to marry a Pagan whore," Morgaine said coldly through her teeth. She was sure Guinevere would do it this time and slice the delicate skin at her throat but she did not.

"Is that what you think of me? No – I knew that." Guinevere drew away and spat at Morgaine. "You will do well to stay a way from my child."

"Or what, Guinevere? You will paint yourself blue and run at me with your sword? They say it is dangerous for a woman to touch a weapon while she is with child." Her eye fell upon the knife Guinevere held still in her hand. Guinevere growled at her and with one swift motion, flung the knife forcefully at the woman's head. Morgaine moved her head and smiled as the blade fell harmless before the fire.

"I think your condition, milady, has affected your aim." Guinevere scowled.

"You say you are a good woman, Morgaine, and that you, having been borne of a woman of this land, have converted yourself to this religion they call Christianity. What of Christianity? You keep a scrying bowl under your bed and mutter curses under your breath every time you see me walk passed. You devote yourself to those... evil arts and yet you dare call yourself one of them... a Christian. Is this what your God has called on you to do, Morgaine? Is this is your calling, to go against everything Christians believe in?"

"Sometimes one must take their fate into their own hands in order to insure the fates of others."

"And what of my fate?" Guinevere demanded.

"Perhaps both our souls will be trapped in hell for eternity."

"Rubbish," Guinevere spat. She turned to go, her lips twisted into an angry snarl, but could not bring herself to leave the room without having said everything that plagued her mind. She turned around and faced Morgaine once again, staring into the woman's pale, pale face. "I do not know why Arthur allows you to dwell in his home. Perhaps he pities you for some reason beyond my understanding."

"You know very well that I, being merely a woman, cannot go anywhere alone – not since my husband's death in battle."

"He died a much coveted Roman death," Guinevere murmured bitterly, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"Indeed he did," Morgaine said, her voice fading as she thought of him for a brief moment. A sly smile posessed her lips and she looked into the hearth as if searching for something. With a blank stare, she reached out with one hand and grasped hold of something in the air that Guinevere could not see. _She has gone mad_, Guinevere thought, _and she is doing well with driving me into madness along with her_.

"My fate, Guinevere – my destiny," she said quietly. There was nothing sinister about her voice as she spoke those words. If there was anything to sense in her voice, it was the faintest trace of sorrow.

"My child is my own destiny... and she, her own destiny."

"Do not be so certain that your child is a daughter... you know my brother wants a son." Suddenly, a boy ran into the room, laughing gaily as he did. He grabbed hold of Guinevere's hand and tugged on it as if he were about to request something of her. But his expression turned from joy to fear as he noticed Morgaine in the room, staring at them both.

"He already has a son," Guinevere said. She turned to leave a second time but she could not do so without saying one last thing. "Morgaine, Bors has made it a point that he wishes for you to accompany him in his room tonight. I must warn you though, Vanora will murder you in your sleep if you fail to keep your secret. She is still in childbed." _Who is the whore now?_

"Very well then," Morgaine said simply, a dull expression of excitement upon her face. Then she motioned for the boy, who looked on her with curiosity, to come to her. Guinevere held him back but he pulled his hand free as if to declare in his own silent way that he had the courage to do things on his own. The boy approached Morgaine slowly.

"Aunt Morgaine," he said quietly, addressing her formally out of intimidation rather than respect. There was fear in his eyes as Morgaine smiled at him in her almost cynical way. She patted his head, to his dismay, as if he were a little boy and not a boy already passed the age of ten.

"I am sorry, boy, but I do not remember your name," she said to him, forcing a kind way about her.

"Lucan," he murmured. Morgaine nodded at him. She turned her head and gestured towards the knife that rested in front of the hearth. Guinevere watched her carefully, holding her hand out in case anything should happen.

"Will you get that for me?" Lucan nodded and bent down to retrieve the blade, holding the handle of it shakily in his fingers. He held it out to her, the curiosity growing even more as Morgaine eyed the glinting blade. In his face was a look of distrust for the woman. She grinned, exposing her crooked teeth. Then she lifted her hand, revealing long, claw-like fingernails and pointed at Guinevere who stood in the doorway, her knuckles clenched against the wooden frame of it.

"Will you take it from me?" Lucan questioned after an awkward silence. His bottom lip trembled slightly. He was afraid and Morgaine knew it and was pleased. She shook her head.

"Give it to your mother," Morgaine instructed him. "She dropped it there not too long ago. She might want it back, not being able to retrieve in a normal fashion."

"She is not my mother," Lucan said. "My mother is dead... and my father." Morgaine faked a look of sympathy and reached out to take the ring the hung from Lucan's throat into her hands. She brought it close to her eyes and starred at it momentarily. Lucan stood there stupidly, almost unaware of what was going on.

"This is a lovely... pendant. You will give it to me someday, boy." Lucan shook his head. Morgaine was not asking, she was merely stating a fact that only she could ever know. Guinevere opened her mouth protest but Lucan had made it clear that he needed no help from her.

"I will keep it forever," Lucan told her. "Forever," he repeated, taking back the ring - Dagonet's ring - and concealing it in his palm.

"You say that now. But things will change... life will no longer be so simple and you will have to give up the things that were once so dear to you." Lucan scowled but did not respond. He drew away from her slowly and then, looking at Guinevere questioningly, handed the knife to her. Guinevere took it quickly, and gabbed Lucan's arm protectively. She urged him with a whisper to go out of the room and he did, fleeing down the hall now that no one could see him.

"You harm him, Morgaine, and I will spill your witch's blood upon that hearth. I swear on my mother's grave – I swear on the grave of Dagonet that you will be harmed," Guinevere threatened. Morgaine crossed herself, almost sarcastically, against Guinevere's curse.

"That was rather harsh, Guinevere," Morgaine said passively, picking up her spinning once again. Her husky voice began to hum the same monotonous tune. Guinevere finally went out of the door, leaving Morgaine alone. She would keep her alive for Arthur's sake, Guinevere decided. But even as she thought this, her mind could not be pulled away from the worries she had for her child.


	3. II Disruption

**Author's Notes** - Than you to _end-of-rainbow_ for reviewing. I had hoped I'd get more feedback. I didn't want to give away too much of what wil happen but I felt it would be good to foreshadow a little bit. Also, concerning the latter half of the chapter, I had first decided to start Aranwen off as spoiled, girly and childish and allowed time for her to grow but then I went against it so now she's rebellious thought still spoiled. We will find out why Aranwe acts the way she does during the next few chapters. Let me know what _you_ think!

**Chapter 2 – Disruption**

"Help me, Lucan... help me..." a burdened voice uttered in the silence. Lucan reached out and though he was not able to see anything in the unnatural darkness before him, he grasped a hand in his own. Swollen fingers clung to him as if he were the only hope left in the world. A strangled song was hummed in the darkness and Lucan could not help but weep at the sorrowful sound of it.

"Say something... speak," he pleaded.

"Tell him I love him, Lucan... kiss him for me." The hand that held his own trembled.

"I will," Lucan promised, choking on his own words as if they were to be his last.

"I cannot see your face in the dark..." The voice became more pained. "I want to see it... the sun has become but a myth to me in such a place..." Lucan felt the hand slip from his. The voice, a pitiful sound that was beyond recognition, had faded into the eerie quiet. A familiar odor filled his nostrils. It was the smell of decaying flesh - of rotting corpses and of death. It was then that Lucan awoke.

--

"Aranwen... stop it! Aranwen! Return at once... turn around, child!" Morgaine begged desperately.

"Or what, Aunt? I might disrupt my father's meeting?" Aranwen challenged angrily, marching down the corridors in such a hurry that Morgaine was not able to stop her.

"You would present yourself to your father dressed in such a manner?"

"I don't care!" Aranwen cried. She stopped swiftly in her tracks and faced her aunt with such a viciousness that Morgaine almost drew away in fear. The child before her held a sword in one hand and a bow in the other. There was a red mark etched from the corner of her eye down to the bottom of her cheek. For a moment, she did not even look human.

"You would not _dare_ strike me," Morgaine hissed, gathering her wits about her.

"Only if you dare to stop me." So she continued on her way, not caring now whether Morgaine followed her or not. Aranwen threw open the heavy doors that soon appeared before her with such force that all on the other side, looked up from their places, dumbfounded at the girl who stood in the door.

"What do you want, girl?" the voice of Arthur demanded. Aranwen's heart sunk at his tone. Had she not waited all this time only to have him return and forget the face of his own daughter? Aranwen did not say a word and merely stood there, frozen, with her hands clenched and shaking upon the sword in her hand.

"Is it you, Aranwen?" Galahad, the closest to her, asked, a grin upon his face. Aranwen did not smile back for her gaze was fixed upon Arthur.

"Aranwen," Arthur said finally. He frowned at the sight of her, throwing a questioning glance at his half-sister who stood behind the girl in her last attempts to persuade her to leave the knights be. Aranwen felt the tears burning in her eyes. She was beginning to look like the girl she was again, a girl reaching marrying age and perhaps not really a girl at all.

"What happened to your face, child?" Arthur approached her slowly and it was as if he were afraid of her. He stared into her eyes, wondering if indeed this child who stood before him was a changeling as Morgaine had once suggested when she was but an infant in her cradle. His daughter would not utter a word to him, as if she were doing so out of spite. "Where is your mother?"

"I am surprised you did not tie her to your bedpost during your absence... she goes wherever she pleases," Aranwen told him boldly. Arthur grew angry and raised his hand to strike her. But his features softened when he realized for the second time who it was that really stood before him.

"What have you done to my daughter?" Arthur asked Morgaine slowly. It was as if Aranwen could not hear. She scowled and threw her sword down upon the stone ground so that the sound of metal against stone rattled the hall at a rather uncomfortable pitch.

"There's nothing wrong with her, Arthur," old Bors said heartily from his spot at the table. The aging knight raised his goblet to her, winking though his good nature did not succeed in lifting up her mood. Galahad, the knight in which Aranwen has declared her love for as a child, stood up and took the sword from the ground. He examined it, moving his finger across the clean blade.

"She is throwing a tantrum," Morgaine told them all. She grabbed Aranwen's wrist, pulling her from the hall and into the corridor. Aranwen thrust Morgaine's hand away, growling at her as if she were some wild beast.

"I warned you, Aunt, that you would do well to keep away from me," she threatened."Do not touch me! I will not let you work your spells on me! Let"

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur demanded, looking at his knights, almost embarrassed by the disruption. "Is this the way you go about seeking attention. Can you not see that I am here discussing important matters with my men?"

"And you could not do that all that time you were away... why could Rome not have come here? I thought they no longer cared for this wretched isle. Or is it a good drink that keeps you from seeing your daughter? You do not know how it feels to have waited for so long only to find that your father has indeed returned and no one had informed you?"

"Is that all that bothers you?"

"_All_?" Aranwen demanded, biting her lips to keep herself from sobbing then and there in front of her father's company. She felt like a fool now indeed. It was not the attention she yearned for, but the understanding. "No... that is not all," she confessed under her breath. Arthur did not hear her. He reached out to touch the wound on her face, tracing it with a scarred hand. His eye then fell upon the feather that hung from twine looped around her neck. He took it into his hand in an attempt to recall where he had seen it before.

"It is my mother's," Aranwen said quietly as her father drew his hand away thoughtfully. "An item of war..."

"Of murder!" Morgaine cried, snatching the feather from Aranwen's neck. "A mark of _them_, child... of painted _savages_!"

"That painted savage in which you speak so carelessly of is my mother," Aranwen said, raising her voice once again. "Wouldyou rather then, dear aunt, have me put a crucifix in its place? I told you to leave... and I would be weary in your place to speak in such a manner... or I will have your severed tongue in my hands."

"You will never marry if you keep speaking in that way," Gawaine said in a jest. Aranwen glared at him and the knight fell silent.

"I think you should both go... Lucan will escort you back to your quarters, Aranwen." A man much younger than all the others, stood up from his place. Aranwen shook her head defiantly.

"What?" she asked innocently, forgetting about the feather and taking the sword from Galahad. She faced all the nights with naught but a faint quavering in her voice. Her hair fell unkept upon her traveling cloak. "You do not think I have a place here at your table?" She found a place and seated herself there as if she were one of them. The knights, though weary, found this amusing and exchanged smirking glances when Aranwen did not see them.

"Aranwen... you are not even a knight."

"Lucan is not a knight... why does he sit here?" Aranwen challenged, pointing the bow in her foster-brother's direction. "Or must I return to my room and spin, spin, spin as Morgaine has taught me – a task fit for that of a common serving woman?" Her cheeks became flushed as the room was fell into awkward quiet. Bors broke the silence with a belch but even that was of no amusement to Aranwen. Arthur starred at his daughter blankly, searching the air in front of him it seemed for the words to say.

"You must do as your own life permits, Aranwen... you were born of two lands..." Aranwen had heard the speech preached countless times and never once was it properly explained to her.

"Indeed I am of two lands – or so that is what everybody says. I was born of two lands, two lives, two people... I know much of one life and not the other. I know everything there is to know about one people but have never been taught about the other. All I know are the myths spoken from the lips of my mother – all the gods and all the stories she has been forbidden to utter in front of those here who are too pious for their own good. Where is the freedom you speak of, Father?"

"I have never deprived anyone of their freedom!" Arthur told her sternly.

"My freedom?" Aranwen asked. "Morgaine seeks to put me in my place but I only seek to find it... my mother has grown even more ill since she saw you last. She bids you come to her when business is done here so that she may greet you. She has missed you so...."

"I apologize, brother... I shall take her away," Morgaine said suddenly. This time, Aranwen did not protest. She wanted then for Arthur to take her into his arms and embrace her but he did not. Aranwen, saddened, accepted his silent response with a simple nod. She scanned the now puzzled expressions upon the knight's faces, finding herself looking at her foster-brother, Lucan. He did not look back at her and she had half expected him to stand in her defense.

"Then take me away... lead me back to my dungeon," Aranwen said bitterly. "So long... so long..." she murmured. "An entire year, it seems, has passed since I saw you last."

"And you have changed, my daughter," Arthur said with a with sorrow in his voice much to Aranwen's dismay. She looked to Lucan again for the last time and whispered a silent plea.

"Help me, Lucan... help me..."


	4. III For Guinevere

**Author's Notes** - Thanks to _end-of-rainbow_ for reviewing. My story has a fan (I hope). Review, people! Reviews make me happy.

**Chapter 3 - For Guinevere**

She could not speak. Guinevere, too pale almost beyond recognition, only looked at Arthur as he entered the room. He did not speak as his eyes fell upon her corpse-like figure. It was as if an aura of death encircled her fragile face. She reached out for him with trembling arms as if they were as stone and she had not the proper strength to lift them.

"What happened to you?" Arthur asked, going to her. Still she would not speak. A look of utter suffering was painted upon her face and reflected in her eyes. Arthur bent his head down and kissed her cold lips. She could not even hold him. She could barely whisper his name.

"She is very ill, my brother," a cold voice said from behind him. Arthur shivered at the sound of it. The voice was like an unexpected wind – a draft that crept into the beds of those who slept.

"I had thought she would be well when I returned – I had prayed for it so... I will not lose her."

"God does not grant all the things men ask of Him. He will answer in His own way if at all. Let me remind you, brother, that not all creatures of this earth find favor in His eyes." She paused for a moment, not moving from her place. Arthur turned to face her but he was not angry. He merely nodded, ignoring that in which she spoke about.

"But my son..."

"She is not the young lass she used to be. Children are innocent, Arthur. Your child is in the arms of Christ now... it is your daughter that you must worry about." Arthur ignored her. Why did he tolerate this sister – this sister that seemed no more than a stranger to him when she arrived.

"Guinevere..." Arthur whispered. "Not you as well... you were so strong... so fierce..." He suppressed bitter tears and looked away from her face so as not to let his dwell more on her suffering. Just as you were, he thought, when I first met you. Perhaps this is how you shall leave me. He slipped his hand in hers as it lay stationary at her side. Then he lay his head gently upon her chest and listened to her heartbeat. If it were the only thing left in the world to here, he would have gladly listened and he would have listened forever.

"Leave her be," Morgaine said, attempting a more gentle tone. "She needs her rest."

"She has been resting for so long."

"Perhaps eternal rest is what she truly needs..." Morgaine said, her raspy voice fading into whisper. "It's punishment, Arthur... punishment for denying our Lord. If she were any other woman, perhaps she would have been spared."

"Many women, peasant and royalty alike, suffer the pains of childbearing... what makes her any different? God does not life for anyone," Arthur said angrily, turning to her but not on her as he was so often tempted to do. But she was his sister.

"But He as every right to let it slip away." Arthur scowled. He could only bring out the anger inside him and not the tears. He wanted to cry but could not bring himself to – not in front of Morgaine but maybe he would have if it were Guinevere there. He would cry for Guinevere but not let himself be seen defeated in Morgaine's eyes.

"Every right..." he said quietly. "Every right," he repeated, letting the words sit on his tongue. They sounded almost foreign to him. He could not think.

"She is the second half of my soul, sister... I cannot let her slip away. You did your best to care for her?" he knew that could not be true. Morgaine despised Guinevere. He only lied to himself aloud.

"I did care for her... you know that." He did not believe her. I am a fool, he scolded himself. But Rome had been calling to him. He could not deny his responsibilities elsewhere. Never. And yet his heart ached for the things that he should have done. Or could have done.

"Father," another, different, voice called abruptly from the doorway. There stood a young girl dressed, not in riding clothes, but in a beautiful, though still simple, gown. Her long, dark hair was combed and loose over her shoulders. He was looking at Guinevere.

"Aranwen..." he said, this time with no anger or surprise. The calm expression in his daughter's face suddenly turned from smile to snarl when she saw Morgaine. She then turned around and went away and Arthur almost fretted that he would never see her again. But he knew he would now that he was home – alive.

"She is like her mother more and more each day," Morgaine said though it was not a good natured observation. She said it with a hint of bitterness and disappointment. "I have tried," she murmured. "But she will not listen."

Guinevere's eyes followed Morgaine as she left the room. But she did not want to think of Morgaine. She murmured his name, trying with all her strength to sound out each syllable of his name. Arthur. But he could hardly hear her and he did not need to. He was there.

"I love you," he said to her. It had been a long time since she had heard those words spoken. He loved her and she should have been content with just that.


	5. IV The Ghost That Haunts Us

Author's Note – Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. This story will get happier... eventually. For now, please tolerate the darkness! Enjoy.

Chapter 4 – The Ghost That Haunts Us

It was early morning when the bells rang. Snow fell and blew in carefree swirls outside and Aranwen's breath hung in the air even as she lay in her bed.

She could not weep – not now. No longer was there any dread or any fear. What was done was done and though she could have done something more to prevent it from happening, she had not. Guinevere was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.

Aranwen went to her mother's room where the knights had gathered round her bed. Lucan stood like a stranger at the door, head down so no one would see his tears. Aranwen knelt at her mother's side and pressed Guinevere's cold hand against her warm tears. "I hardly knew you," she whispered. "But you were my mother." She reached out and took the feather that was entangled in Guinevere's hair.

"Little Arthes," Arthur said softly, putting a hand on her shaking shoulders. His voice was not a comfort, just a reminder of the things that could have been. Aranwen did not look up with the fear that she would catch Morgaine's eye. She did not want to see Morgaine. If she did, even unwittingly, Aranwen was sure she would cut her throat and throw her to the dogs.

"Guinevere is dead. Long live Aranwen," Bors murmured, a drink in one hand and a tear on his cheek. "Long live our Lady Arthes."

--

The moon was shrouded by the dismal clouds of winter. The snow remained on the hills and a cold, bitter air crept into the castle. Even Aranwen did not mind it this time. She lie in her bed with her blankets crumpled on the floor, hoping that the cold would numb her.

_"A queen of two lands, it is your right,"_ Guinevere had told her. _"Never forget that."_ But Aranwen wanted to.

"What are you doing, Wen?" a familiar voice asked from the shadows in a tone barely higher than that of a crackling fire – a fire that seemed so far, far away. Lucan bent down to retireve the blanket and drew it over Aranwen's shivering body.

"Why are you here?" she asked even though she knew. Lucan was alone.

"I... I must let you sleep,' he said, turning to leave but Aranwen grasped hold of his hand.

"No! No – do not go... do not leave me here, alone," she pleaded. "Stay here with me, brother." She began to sob again, calling his name in a pathetic voice. Lucan nodded and sat himself down on the edge of her bed. He pinched her cheek, solemnly teasing her.

"I am here," he assured her.

"Why can things not be as they used to be?" Aranwen asked. "Why is it that everything that I say and do must be used against me? Lucan, I see her sometimes – Morgaine – standing in my doorway and watching me as I sleep. She is a ghost... of the unfriendly sort that haunts until we are driven mad – or until we have died." There was a silence.

"My mother was beautiful too," he said, his words plucked from the air in front of him it seemed. "She was dark haired and free-spirited – just like your own mother. I did not think I would have to lose her a second time. Never." In the silent dark was heaved a weary sigh. Lucan lay himself down beside Aranwen and took her – his little sister – into his arms, resting her head upon his chest and holding her clasped hands in his own.

"I missed you," Aranwen said quietly.

"I was not far," he responded, somewhat puzzled.

"It seemed as if you were for quite some time..." Aranwen looked up at him, barely recognizing his features in the dim light of the hearth. She traced them delicately with a trembling hand, stopping at his lips and then pulling her hand away. "Will you recite a bard's tale?" she requested suddenly.

"I... cannot," Lucan said, his tone uncomfortable.

"Then... tell me of all the knights, one by one – like you used to." Aranwen closed her eyes and suddenly, she was aware of the circumstanced. The man who held her in his arms was not her brother – not anymore.

"You have heard all my stories, Wen... you must sleep." Another silence.

"Why can things not be as they used to be?" Aranwen asked again. "These are not simple tears." _And you, Lucan, are but a stranger to be now._


	6. V Stranger, Stranger

**Author's Note –** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. This chapter will be even darker. It's not like me to write such – material. But I felt that it was necessary to the plot. _Italic_ means that the scene is a flashback.

**Chapter 5 – Stranger, Stranger**

Aranwen shuddered at the memory. Cold hands and hot breath – that was what she remembered most clearly. She was not even dreaming when it happened. A hoarse breathing woke her from a light slumber. Her eyes opened to a shadow descending upon her. Strong hands pinned her arms down onto the bed and a tremendous weight was heaved upon her. Thinking it was but a joke at first, she called Lucan's name. But surely he would not be so bold, she thought quickly.

She did not scream – not at first. Guinevere had told once when she was small that one should only scream when they could no longer help themselves. So she struggled, trying with all her might to wriggle out from under the stranger's grasp and attempting to reach under her pillow for the dagger she kept there. But the stranger knew her secret. With his breath upon her face, he reached under her head and grabbed the knife and quickly slid it under her chin.

"You cannot decide to scream now," he said in a cold whisper. Aranwen gasped but did not move. She was afraid now – finally, now that the moment was quiet.

"What do you plan to do with me?" she asked, an urgency in her voice. She heard a cruel, quiet laughter and felt his hand on her cheek, as if he were imposing upon her a false affection. Aranwen opened her mouth to scream, thinking it was her only chance, but her frightened breathing was all that could be heard.

"Forgive me, milady..." the man murmured, reaching for her garments and releasing her other hand. He put his mouth forcefully over hers to muffle her sobbing. "Morgaine... bids it – and I could not resist the opportunity..."

--

Morgaine was awakened in the early morning by the cries of a young girl. Aranwen stood at her doorway, holding the knife in one hand. The scratch on her face received in a mock fight was now accompanied by a torn lip and a bruised cheek.

"Who was he?" Aranwen screamed. "Who was it – he said it was _your_ bidding!" The girl threw herself upon the bed and held the knife to Morgaine's throat, unflinchingly. "Why, Morgaine?" Her voice became shaken with disturbed sobs. Tears mingled with blood. Morgaine said nothing and Aranwen drew away, gasping for breath.

"It had to be done..." Morgaine finally murmured in too simple a manner. Aranwen let out a tortured screech and brought the knife down onto the bed and through Morgaine's exposed palm. Blood spurted out upon the sheets but Morgaine did not even utter a cry.

"I am numb to the pain," she said simply, taking the knife with her bloodied hand and sucking air in through clenched teeth. "You cannot hurt me even in your anger. Aranwen... being heiress to the throne – such a right is... accompanied by certain burdens and responsibilities. I must thin the savage line..." Morgaine whispered, grabbing the girl by the hair and uttering the words into her ear. "Or bring it to an abrupt end."

"Your mother was of this land... she was a Briton – one of the savages you speak so ill about! Surely your blood is tainted just as mine is!" Aranwen fell to the ground in hopelessness, watching, almost as if she were in a trance, as Morgaine wrapped cloth ripped from her nightshift around her hand.

"I will be married..." Morgaine said simply. "Marcus is his name... but I will not marry him until certain events come into play. I would have you married too as would best suit a girl your age. But I do not see what good it would do. Do not get me wrong... there are many who would have you..."

"I am not for anyone."

"Your permission is not needed."

"Do you love my father?" Aranwen demanded. "If you do love him then why would you coax his wife to death and then dishonour his daughter? Is that just in the eyes of God? Even the pagans of this land show more compassion!" Morgaine paused for a moment and Aranwen half expected to see even a spark of emotion in her eyes. But there was none. None at all. Morgaine tilted her head and peered at her through squinted eyes.

"I suppose... besides that is what is commanded of mankind. I must love everyone. Even you, poppet... and it is out of love that I do what I do – truly for I know no other way."

"I can kill myself," Aranwen threatened, going to the window. "I could throw myself out right now having been disgraced so... and betrayed!"

"He got what we bargained for so you may do what you wish. It makes no difference to me. Not any more. Marcus will thank me later, I am sure." Aranwen let out another frustrated cry. She did not know what to do. Her father would not listen to her for Morgaine was his sister. Suddenly, a new dread filled her. What about Arthur? She fled out of her aunt's chamber and to where her father slept.

--

"Your eye is not as good as it used to be, Galahad – even when you are sober," Gawaine jested. Galahad frowned, stooping down to retrieve the dagger from the ground and aiming again at his target. But his eyes drifted over to where Lucan was, lying across the floor with an empty mug in his hand. The younger man opened his eyes and lifted his head, wincing in the light of the rising sun.

"You did it again!" Bors roared. "'Tis a beautiful day, boy... stand up now and have another drink."

"Leave the poor man alone," Galahad mumbled. "You, Bors, have had more than your fair share. Save it for tonight... Arthur will wonder about us when he comes down."

"Nah... a drink is no good when you have nothing to celebrate – or no pain to numb, you know?" Lucan did not laugh. Something did not feel right. The air around was too silent for comfort.

"The sky is red this morning," Lucan observed, looking to the clouds gathered to the east.

"Aye, it's a beautiful day," Bors said again, rubbing his hands together. "My daughter asks about you, Lucan." Lucan did not respond.

"Try not to embarrass the boy," Galahad told him. "He can look for a lady on his own."

"And you have more than one daughter," Gawaine reminded Bors with a wink. "I know some of them quite well - what is that name of the large one with flaming red hair? Resembles you some, Bors – quite friendly too."

"Touch one of them and I will make it so that you are no longer a man," Bors threatened. "Lucan is a fine boy – and he's too good looking to be unmarried at his age."

"He is not a boy, Bors," Galahad said.

"But he's younger than us, no? He's a boy to me – still a boy. He's Dag's little fosterling."

"I can argue on my own, Galahad," Lucan said quietly. The older knight, who was much like an older brother to him, nodded. All of a sudden, the shrill sound of a horn split the air and the knights looked up, alarmed.

"A Woad horn," Galahad recognized.

--

_"Your mother gave it to you?" Lucan asked, touching the strange object in her hands. Aranwen nodded, clasping it tightly, refusing to let anyone else touch it. "Well... what sound does it make?"_

_"I cannot show you - I must use it only when I am in need of... them. My mother told me that if I was ever in any trouble then I should make a noise upon it and the people of the woods will come for me." Aranwen wrapped the thing in a sheepskin and put it back into the chest, closing lid tightly. "She said she might not always be there."_

_"Do you think the day will come - you know, when you will need it?" Aranwen shrugged, a look of worry in her eyes. But she was too young to know fear. Guinevere would always be there to protect her. Guinevere would never leave. Never._

_"No..." Aranwen breathed, shaking her head. "No. I have you here, Lucan... and my father and his knights - that dragon that always kept me safe even in my dreams. And my mother always said that I must learn to fend for myself. Sometimes, Lucan, she is more of a teacher than a mother to me."_

_"Are not mothers teachers?" Lucan asked. _

_"They are usually both... but my own mother was one and not the other."_

_"But she protects you, Wen," Lucan told her gently. "And she protects me."_

_"Indeed," Aranwen said softly, "But while she protects, she never comforts..." Aranwen sighed. "She was the one who warned me when I was small not to ride my horse so fast. And it was you, Lucan, who comforted me when I fell off doing so."_

_"I promise, Aranwen, that while I live, you will never be without comfort." Lucan put his arms around her affectionately - like she was his own little girl. Her small, fragile body was warm against his own. Things would never change. _

**Author's Note –** There you go, my friends. Another dark, disturbing chapter. I know there are plenty of unanswered questions. It would be nice if you attempted to answer any you come up with so I know where I am leading my readers. No flames though.


	7. VI Helios and Diana

**Author's Note -** I just realized the errors littered throughout my story and author's notes... I will fix them tomorrow or sometime soon. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I will try and take the time to name you individually next update. I apologize much for character deaths. I never planned them... well, sort of but they ended up being written sooner than they were supposed to be. Those of you reading and not reviewing (perhaps there are some), please review. Your feedback is appreciated.

**Chapter 6 - Helios and Diana**

And so they came. Aranwen did not see them at first but she knew they were there. Tree branches swayed though there was no wind and the calls of horns not unlike her own answered her from afar. Aranwen did not rejoice nor did she fear them. Creatures of an unknown sort emerged from the wood as strangers from a mist. Clothed in forest darkness, they strode into the dim light of a shrouded sun. Aranwen held her breath, her heart counting every step they took. They were coming.

"Aranwen!" a voice shouted breathlessly, a figure stumbled in through door. Aranwen did not greet Lucan. She but looked at him for a sad, brief moment and solemnly ripped the blankets from her bed and thrust them into the hearth where a hungry fire devoured them. Aranwen watched, in a bitter trance, as furs once so clean turned to ash.

"I am leaving," she said quietly. "I am not sure if I will return... where is she? Where is the witch?" she demanded, looking hastily over her shoulder in case the crow had lingered. But it didn't matter anymore. Lucan, whose face was occupied by a look of bewilderment, did not answer in a proper fashion. His eyes lowered themselves in sadness.

"You will leave all this to Morgaine?" he asked. Aranwen's heart was compressed further by such a suggestion. But that was what she was going to do - even if she had not yet realized it and her mind raced to find excuses.

"There is so much pain here... and though I know the pain will follow me wherever I go, perhaps my spirit will not be so restless elsewhere. I want to learn, Lucan... I want to fly and I cannot do so here, trapped in this cage."

"I could not bear to lose you as well!" Lucan said desperately, his lonely eyes pleading. "You cannot leave me here - alone."

"You will return with the knights. There is nothing left for them here - not anymore. My father's kingdom has crumbled to ruins... it seems so strange that it did so in the course of but only a year - and under a woman's hand."

"Perhaps a woman's hand can bring it up again," Lucan said, bringing her hand to his face. "Sarmatia does not call to me... it was never my home. My home is here - and wherever you are." Aranwen tried to smile but could not. Salty tears stung the marks on her face, a bitter reminder of the night's events.

"You will find a pretty lady, Lucan. You will marry and have many sons and daughters - your wife will take good care of you... and her love will mean more to you than a sister's broken love. You will be great, my brother... your name will be carved in the stone and never leave the lips of man."

"I will be content only to hear my name uttered from your lips, Aranwen." He drew his finger across her cheek, letting it rest upon the crimson lines. "What happened to you?"

"I have been wronged..." Aranwen began, brushing his hand away, voice choked by the memory.

"Perhaps I can right this wrong."

"Only time can ever accomplish such a task. But I will forever be haunted... the trees approach, Lucan. I must greet them." She hurried to the window and leaned out, wishing that she could let go. She wanted to fall.

"No," Lucan protested, pulling her back from the window. "I fear you will never return to me. Come with _me_, Wen, and we shall _ride_!"

"To _where_, Lucan?" Aranwen cried exasperatingly. "To where?" her broken voice echoed.

"To where it no longer hurts, my lady."

"Heaven is only for the dead - and I am still of the living, if only in body." Aranwen wrapped her traveling clothes more tightly about her and wiped the tears from her eyes, as if to deny that they were ever there.

"I will come back stronger. I swear by every brick in Hadrian's Wall that I will take back what is mine. But until then I will be gone from here." Lucan clung to her suddenly.

"And will I do?" he demanded, holding her in a tight embrace.

"Look to the moon... for that is where you shall see my face... and the sun is where I shall look in your name. We are twin souls you and I - Helios and Diana." Aranwen's soft words silenced him for only a little while.

"Will you be a stranger when you return? Will you forget me in your absence?"

"I will not return a ghost," Aranwen told him simply. "I no longer care for yesterday."

"But we were yesterday as much as we are today! Surely our memories mean more than nothing to you... or do they not? I shall be simply forgotten while you find a new life for yourself?" Lucan looked like a stricken child and Aranwen wanted to feel pity for him.

"What we are is now - we cannot still play the parts of children." She kissed his cheek with haste, drawing a way in a hurry not knowing that she wounded Lucan with her kiss. Her eyes made his heart grieve for something not yet lost. But she will be lost, he told himself in hopelessness. "Dagonet watches," she reminded him gently.

Lucan watched her go from the room with nothing in her hands. _She is gone_, Lucan realized sadly knowing that Aranwen, if kept in her cage, would have died in Morgaine's grasp. _I love you_, echoed words unsaid. Those words would mean nothing to her if kept locked in his heart. And it would haunt him until he could have the chance to say them properly. He waited.

"Is she gone, boy?" Morgaine, her voice hanging in the air as breath in the winter. But Lucan did not look at her nor did he betray any anger. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the far distance. He watched, his heart breaking with every tree that retreated back into forest dark.

"You have won," he said as bells sounded to confirm Arthur's death and a dark cloud descended upon the people. Lucan blinked to let the tears fall, not ashamed to let Morgaine see them. "Even the peasants mourn him."

"Indeed... his murderer has been put to justice. He lies in the prison - the blood still dripping from his hands." _I fear it was you who put the dagger there_. Morgaine sighed, as if the darkness of the times did not affect her. _But again_, Lucan thought, _it was she who made it that way_.

**Author's Note -** Another note! Sorry. Next chapter, I will draw the attention away from Aranwen and write a little about Galahad (because I love Galahad)... yes, he will make an appearance. So it will be a Lucan / Galahad / OC next chapter.


	8. VII Pretty Stranger

**Author's note –** I lied, no Galahad. I was frustrated that I was not able to upload any new chapters and it was slowing my process of moving on… I will write a new chapter soon and perhaps I will follow through on my promises.

**Chapter 7 – Pretty Stranger**

He recalled her pretty face and blue eyes but not her name. He remembered the flowers in her hair and how her red curls encircled her face in and almost delicate manner and yet he had yet to hear the sound of her voice. Now, when the only light was a dimly burning fire in the hearth and things seen no longer seemed so significant, Lucan watched as shadows danced upon the wall. It was all he could do and all that his wits could allow for he was frightened of the young girl in his midst. His eyes suddenly fell upon the banner hanging at the head of the bed – a bed that would sleep two now instead of one.

"I made that for you," a soft voice whispered from the shadows. "There is a lion – for your courage… and a laurel crown for your victories to come. There is also a cross to declare your devotion to our lord and mother. My father hopes you will carry it into battle one day. Do you like it?" Lucan starred at the banner – colours he could barely distinguish in the dark room. He lowered gaze suddenly to the girl sitting nervously on his bed, her hands clasped in her lap.

"I do like it," he forced a reply. "But you must have made it for some other man."

"No, no, my lord… only you – I made it solely for you," the girl insisted, afraid it seemed that she had insulted him. But Lucan was not angry. He smiled at her a little, as if to assure her that it was no fault of her own.

"You made it for some other man for I embody none of these ideals."

"Surely all men are the same." Lucan went to her, a desperation in his eyes. The girl gasped, almost afraid that he might strike her but he did not.

"Your name, my lady?" he asked gently.

"Elaine," the girl replied.

"Elaine," he repeated, touching her red curls and brushing them from her face. "I am Lucan." There was a silence. Lucan touched her cheek, lip and chin and wondered how this girl did not turn away from him. His hand trembled at her cheek and yet she still starred at him. But the tears filled her eyes and she began to weep. Lucan took hr into his arms like a child, soothing her by saying her name repeatedly.

"I am afraid," she confessed. "You did not choose me.. am I pleasing enough, my lord?" Lucan nodded, not really knowing what to say. _Why?_ He wondered. There was no other way – Aranwen had gone.

"I am lucky to be given a wife so beautiful," he said kindly. "And I speak the truth.. You are truly a beauty for why else would the knights be so jealous… did you see them at the ceremony?" _Morgaine is not punishing me. She only sought to take my mind away from Aranwen._

Elaine smiled finally – there was nothing but gentleness about her. Lucan found that her smile warmed him, and he smiled in return. She was the sun peaking though the dark clouds that were the days. Elaine was what he had. And he was thankful.

"Do you think… you could ever learn to love me?" he asked.

"It is my duty," Elaine whispered.

"I am not the warrior you dreamt about – I do not war with a glad heart nor do I kill for sport. I have never even fought in a real battle… I am coward! Surely you are the one who is disappointed. Have I failed to please _you_? If anything it is _you_ who has the right to speak."

"In my dreams I saw but a face. I did not recognize it but I know now… it _was_ you." Elaine breathed, pressing her hand to his cheek in a tender manner. "My ideals are not valid for they come from thoughts other than my own." He kissed her.

"What we used to know does not matter anymore," he said somberly. _Aranwen_, he wanted to say. _Aranwen_. But she was not there.

"I can only do what is expected of me." Elaine closed her eyes as Lucan easer her down onto the bed. She bit her lip in a frightened grimace.

"Do not be afraid," he told her. _Aranwen_. _Where are you?_ "Elaine, Elaine."

"My husband,"Elaine said quietly. The sound of such a phrase was alien to her tongue.

"How old are you?"

"Nearly seventeen," she replied promptly. Lucan murmured a reply. _Aranwen's age_, he thought. _Or perhaps a little older_.

"A beauty at seventeen… I admire the spirit in your eyes – how I _miss_ you," he said, leaving Elaine puzzled by his words. "I miss you."


	9. VIII Worth It All

**Author's Note –** Much thanks to _chiefhow_ for being my only reviewer for last chapter. I very much appreciated the review. The story is darker, yes, and Morgaine will get what she deserves – or will she? I'm sorry for the short-ish chapters. For stories such as these, I prefer them to be a little bit longer. There is a surprise coming in a little later on.

**Chapter 9 – Worth It All**

"Of course Lucan is not heir – he is not Arthur's true son nor does he have any of that blood in him… he is but a bastard child of one of _them_," Morgaine hissed. "We have nothing to fear, husband. He may have a dozen children and still it would not matter." Morgaine's laughter was like brittle rocks – rough sand sifting between his fingers. Marcus observed her from his bed, his mouth twisted into a snarl. But Morgaine just laughed at him.

"We have no children… who will follow us to the throne. What if I die? The people love that boy… he's no longer a boy anyhow. The pity they feel for him – they were father to him as Arthur was. They will rejoice in our passing and follow _him_!" Marcus spat, reaching for the wine goblet at his bed side and drinking from it in a careless, almost drunken, manner. Finding it suddenly empty, he flung it at the floor where even the dull sound of wood against stone echoed in the silence. He grunted, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"Men know nothing of politics," Morgaine scoffed. "They are too obsessed with power."

"And _you_, woman? What is it that _you_ hunger for?" Marcus demanded angrily, spitting at her. Morgaine growled a little but forced her lips into a sly grin. She moved slowly towards him, her tangled hair falling across his bare chest, face and shoulders – suffocating him. She raked her fingernails lightly across his exposed flesh, pressing her lips to his neck so that he shivered with each breath that crept across his skin.

"I have a secret, husband," she whispered, her mouth below his ear. "Ha!" she said suddenly, startling him. "Men cannot keep secrets either… how badly do you want to know? Tell me…" Marcus pushed her away roughly so that she fell to the floor, her gown flying just above her knees. Morgaine giggled almost too gaily for his comfort. She was mocking him.

"I do not care for secrets," he said. "When do you sleep, woman? Sleep now before I beat you."

"Where do I sleep when you have pushed me from the bed? Besides… beat me and I will enjoy it…" She stood up from the ground and reached out to touch his clean-shaven face with her rough hands, digging her dagger-like fingernails into his cheek. "You try, Marcus… your eyes – they never longed for me… your heart never yearned for me nor your hands to touch me… but I know… such a compromise comes with a price."

"I said sleep!" Marcus barked, wanting to avoid the subject. He could taste her hair. He was swallowing it and it was choking him. Like spider's legs crawling across his face and he was trapped.

"My skin is not as soft as hers… my body not so young… she was a princess, yes, but I am _queen_." Morgaine kissed him – cracked lips against unwilling ones. "Perhaps you would prefer it if I screamed… press your hands against my mouth, suppress my cries with some sickly kiss – like you did with her when you took her… no?" Morgaine slapped him hard across the face and leapt from him when he let out an angry roar and reached for the knife at his belt only to find it was in Morgaine's hands. "Was I worth the deal?" Morgaine screamed her banshee scream. "Was this _life_ worth it all… love and death – _murder_ and _dishonor_?"

"Eternity in hell would have been a far fairer punishment," Marcus murmured. "Or perhaps you are the devil himself… an embodiment."

"Then kill me… for as Lucifer cannot die by your hands alone though I may…" Morgaine said in a lingering whisper. She took the knife and held it to her throat. "Come now, husband… take hold of the knife and slit the skin from here… to here. Do whatever it takes… I will not scream."

"You disgust me." Marcus frowned, turning away from the madwoman before him.

"Coward! You kill a king and not his sister… you kill Arthur but not _me_? For shame, my love, that your hands do whatever else I command of them and yet they cannot kill the master. I _want_, Marcus… and I will keep waiting. Do you fear me?" Morgaine challenged, sensing his weakness. It was into a passionate weakness for he was truly afraid. His eyes never looked directly into her own. She had never felt his embrace.

"I fear only God," Marcus said sullenly, suddenly sober.

"And I above all else?"

"You do not know my heart!" Marcus shouted bitterly.

"But I read your _mind_!" Morgaine cried. "You are despicable, Marcus! You are just as much as a contradiction as I! Admit it! God _despises_ you!" Morgaine taunted him relentlessly with her twisted smile and witch's eyes. She snatched the blankets from the bed and flung them onto the floor so he had no cover – the force of it like a harsh wind.

"I say… it is for the good of the people… that this land be ruled by…" he began, stammering.

"Ruled by _you_?" Morgaine asked. "Do not fool yourself by thinking you rule alone… you are but a puppet… _I_ rule you. Everything I do, I do through you and everything you do, you do because I commanded it. And what we do together is for God… only for God. Through wrong we make all things right. I care not for my own soul… it was lost a long time ago. Do you hear me?" she yelled. Suddenly, her voice faded hoarsely into a strained whisper. "Do you still wish to hear my secret, husband?" she asked. Marcus was silent.


	10. IX The Blue

**Chapter 9 - The Blue**

The air around was cold. It was the Winter Hag, Merlin had told her - the cold was the breath of Lady White and it was her robe of sickly white that hung now from every tree in the forest. "It is only in the forest that one can truly feel Her embrace," Merlin said. "Only within the trees can such a presence be known. They are stripped of their summer garb and clothed in Her as they sleep. Do you not hear her wailing, Aranwen? She cries and she cries - birthing pains until spring. When her child is born, she shall sleep again."

"A hag giving birth to a child?" Aranwen asked, puzzled by such an image.

"It is a story twisted from afar. What the whole truth is we may never know but it makes a good story," Merlin said gently. He held his hands to the warmth of the fire. Aranwen sat opposite him, observing the wet snow that fell around them. She wanted to retreat back to the shelter of the fur draped over poles of wood and bone. She wished for the warmth of her pallet and the smell of old straw. She wished for the gentle light of her lantern. But she was testing herself and Merlin was testing her.

"Is there something troubling you, Grandfather?" Aranwen asked. Merlin looked at her, his painted face taking a peculiar shade in the light of the fire. Each wrinkle on his face counting his years and each scar, every bit of wisdom. He smiled, his lips contradicting the way of his eyes. He touched the dark hair about her face in an affectionate manner.

"I watched you ride," he said in a whisper. His hoarse voice added a new tone to the sound of the mournful wind. "On the hills, Aranwen, when you were small. You hair flew behind you as raven wings. You were not afraid."

"You watched me?" Aranwen asked, not certain about whether to be surprised or not.

"The trees watched you, Aranwen. And when your presence was no longer so frequent outside the walls, we were saddened. Our only hope was trapped inside a wall built to keep us out." Merlin sighed, his gnarled hands grasping her own protectively. "You are here, young one - we feared you were lost to us when the death bells tolled."

"No," Aranwen said with a faint smile, "you have not lost me, Grandfather. I have found you." A troubled shadow descended upon her face. Merlin pressed something cold into her hands. It was a little clay bowl, chipped around the rim. In it was a peculiar blue substance. Aranwen knew what it was.

Aranwen dipped her fingers into the blue and smeared it across her palm. She remembered suddenly her mother's arms around her. Dark hair curtained her face as arms painted blue surrounded her. A song was whispered in her ear and a childish laughter sounded. Her mother's strong arms raised her up to bid farewell to her father.

"Woad," she breathed. Merlin nodded."It is what we are... Aranwen, you _will _return. You will not stay with us forever. You will go backand reclaim what is yours. Morgaine will not hold the throne for long, Aranwe, but there is an enemy far greater than that of Morgaine."

"I do not understand."

"Our scouts returned this night from the north. They had journeyed there to our other villages. They observed the shores from afar - they saw them, child. It is the enemy we though had left long ago but they have returned. They had spent the last years building ships - many ships. Those ships have lined our shores. It is only a matter of time until they reach here." Merlin was solemn, his eyes so cold that Aranwen was afraid to look at him. A terrible shiver shook her body. The blue no longer looked right on her skin.

"The Saxons have returned?" she asked. Until then, all her little fears had seemed so important. Now, the wind was louder the darkness even more dark. She was not alive when such a terrible force contaminated the land. Butfrom her mother's stories - and even Lucan's - she had imagined it all.

"Will you wear the blue?" Merlin asked her. Aranwen did not answer. She was not even sure if she could ever be one of them now. Woad by blood was not good enough. Merlin pressed the hilt of a sword into her vacant hand. Aranwen dropped it - cringing at the sound of metal against rough sand. It was a shameful sound and she picked the sword up again. It was was not a new thing to her for she had held a sword before and she wondered if she was betraying her father's memory by not holding Excalibur in its place. "It was mine... I can no longer fight, Aranwen - you must take it. The gods etched those markings on the blade. And the gods wove these symbols into the scabbard. It is not for luck - the gods _will_ watch over you."

"The gods do not watch over their own!" a voice screamed from one of the shelters. "They have betrayed us... Merlin, they do not care for their people!" The girl wrung her hands anc clenched her fists. Her voice rose high and shrill like the winter air. Aranwen heard the fear and the desperation. The girl threw herself at Merlin's feet. "Merlin, Merlin - we must go... we must leave this place." Her eyes suddenly fell upon Aranwen's shadow and she drew away abruptly, scrambling to her feet in a clumsy manner.

"Forgive me, forgive me..." she pleaded softly. "I did not see..." her tattered garments blew around her almost frantically as others tried to take her away. "Guinevere... Guinevere? Aunt!" she screamed. Aranwen looked to Merlin for an explanation.

"The last time she saw you mother was when she was a child. She is your cousin, Aranwen... her name is Rhian." Aranwen nodded but did not ask what had happened to Rhian. She would soon find out.


	11. X Unmistakable Bonds

**Author's note –** I hope this chapter isn't confusing. The first half is all about Lucan while the rest concerns what is going on with Aranwen. I was thinking about separating this into two chapters but decided they both share a common theme. Thanks to _chiefhow_ for reviewing my last few chapters. You help keep my enthusiasm for this story.

**Chapter 10 – Unmistakable Bonds**

The strangersat one down from the head of the table, at Morgaine's right hand side while Marcus, her husband, sat at her left. Lucan watched as Morgaine took every opportunity possible to look at this stranger. She peered over the rim of her goblet as she drank and cast her eyes upwards as she ate. The man, a young man younger than Lucan even, was aware of such eyes but was reluctant to meet them with his own. Instead, he ignored them, socializing with the men next to him – Marcus' men.

He was a handsome man, Lucan observed. He knew that if it was notfor the squirming infant in Elaine's arms,Elaine would succumb too to his charm along with all the women of Morgaine's court. Lucan eyed the man's clean and unmarred face – he was no man of battle. In his eyes, Lucan found himself being reminded oddly of someone he knew though he was not sure what it was. Such a mystery baffled him beyond ease.

"Welcome home, my son," Morgaine suddenly said, raising her chalice. The man looked up at her hastily, avoiding her eye as best he could. Lucan watched as he forced a pleased smile and Morgaine pulled him into a shaky embrace to kiss him coldly on the cheek. It seemed everyone at the table was surprised at such an action – even the words coming from their queen's mouth was something new to them. Morgaine had a son and no one knew? Marcus knew, Lucan decided, for his face remained stiff and unmoved. His permanent scowl did not shift from his face. He was almost as cold as Morgaine was but he wore a different mask.

"It is a pleasure to return – home, but I do not remember such a place. I do not even remember your face, my lady," the man said with a note of sadness in his tone. But the sadness was not for not ever being able to know Morgaine for what was there to know besides a hidden fear and bitterness?

"Morgaine never mentioned she had a son," Elaine whispered. Lucan turned to look into her curious eyes. "He is very handsome… why, he looks very much like his uncle – Arthur," Elaine remarked, saying Arthur's name with respect and a pronounced somberness.

"Indeed he does," Lucan began, distracted still by the stranger. Elaine pulled at the red braid over one of her shoulders and bit her lip, staring in wonderment at the stranger at the table. He ate his food in a polite manner – unlike any of the knights or any of the other men who sat with them. A clean, polished sword hung from his belt. He was clean, gentle in his manner – the sort of knight that only exsisted in fairytales.

The stranger looked up from his food, unwittingly catching the eye of Elaine. She smiled and looked away and down at the child in her arms. Lucan frowned but was not concerned. _He will leave soon_, Lucan knew, _and be gone from Morgaine's watchful eye _– _and from Elaine's eyes and my own_. Or so he hoped.

The music from the Great Hall had died down to tiresome murmurs by the time the people began to retire to their beds. Drunken laughter erupted every so often but Lucan was not a part of it. Elaine stayed by his side, an odd thing for she often left before drunken songs werebeing sungand men staggered around the room until eventually they were led to their rooms or fell asleep, snoring upon the rushes scatteredacross the floor. Elaine bent her head over the bundle in her arms, whispering quiet songs and rocking the child gently until she was too weary to move any longer.

"My name is Balen," a voice said from above her. She gasped, startled at the sudden sound. Lucan stood up from his seat as the son of Morgaine approached them. Elaine said nothing and turned to her husband for a response.

"Welcome, Balen, to Arthur's court," Lucan said carelessly. Elaine grimaced and looked away but Balen did not argue his words. Instead, he smiled and gave a light laugh.

"Arthur's court is it? Aye, I hear he was a wise ruler… he fought for freedom. My foster-father spoke greatly of him. My only sorrow is that I was never able to learn from him." Balen held respect for the dead king which surprised Lucan. His mother's dark spirit did not reside in him. There was something different inside him – something familiar. Morgaine watched from her chair. Her eyelids were not heavy and her posture was not affected by the late hour. She watched closely and Lucan was afraid that she had heard his words spoken unwittingly.

"My husband spoke carelessly, my lord," Elaine said nervously. The child in her arms whimpered as she shook.

"All is forgiven." Balen turned to Lucan suddenly, his voice lowered to a deep secretive whisper. "Do you know my mother?" he asked. "The knights say you have spoken to her and she to you." Balen pulled Lucan and Lucan did not speak a word to protest. He took him to the darkness of the corridor where nothing could be seen but his shadow.

"I have known your mother since I was a young boy," Lucan replied.

"They say your name is Lucan, is it not?"

"Yes, I am Lucan."

"Lucan… I do not know you but they say I can trust you. No – I see you and know I can trust you. You fear her, do you not? I know you do for you cower under her stare. It is nothing to be ashamed of for I share that fear. We have something in common and I need you to help me."

--

She was not unlike Aranwen in looks or even in spirit. Rhian's face was oddly familiar and very much like her own. Rhian starred in turn at Aranwen as she stood in the entrance way of her shelter. She was not unwanted, Aranwen knew, for the distraught girl beckoned her to go to her. She reached out with a weak, desperate attempt to have Aranwen in her grasp.

"Guinevere.. no…" Rhian breathed, taking Aranwen's arm and embracing it tightly, then wrapping her own arms around Aranwen – binding Aranwen to her. "Is it not you, aunt… why, you are _me_… What name do you come by, stranger if your name is not my own? Or are you a demoness taking my form – Guinevere's form… I do not fear you." Rhian's whispers stopped abruptly and she pressed her ear to Aranwen's breast, listening for a heart. "A living ghost," she murmured, drawing away shakily.

"I am Aranwen" Aranwen said quietly, holding the girl's unsteady hands in her own. "I am the daughter of Guinevere – your cousin, I think, if you are Rhian."

"Oh, my cousin? And why have I not seen you before, cousin? Or are you here to trick me? My _cousin_ you are not… ha! Guinevere has gone, _cousin_!" Thian wept, sobbed, her face low to the ground and her cheeks pressed against the cold earth.

"I am her only child!" Aranwen cried. "I am here under Merlin's mentorship!" There was a silence. Rhian studied Aranwen closely, eyes prying.

"Your wrists, cousin…" Rhian hissed suddenly. She snatched Aranwen's wrists in her shaking hands and pulled them down in front of her eyes, squinting at them in the light of her lantern. "Scratch marks… where he pinned you down… and your face, cousin…" Rhian looked up at Aranwen's face, touching her cheek with cold fingers. "Faded marks where he beat you… your lips were unwilling for they are cracked and bruised… I _know_…" Rhian said delicately. Aranwen's eyes grew wide in fear, fearing this mad woman who could see wounds that were already healed.

"You know?" she asked, astonished.

"I _know_," Rhian replied coldly. "I _know_." She placed her hand on her belly, swallowing a whimper and suppressing a shameful grimace. "Perhaps we share a common bond you and I – except you were lucky." Aranwen's tongue moved between her teeth but no words came out. "Do not look at me like I am weak!" Rhian screamed. She reached behind her head and ripping three feathers from the twine that bound her hair. "These are mine!" she boasted. "The feather you wear around your neck bears no significance to your own accomplishments. What are you? You are an imposter!"

"It is my mother's!"

"It is your mother's kill!" Rhian shouted, tearing the feather from Aranwen's neck. "She earned it not you… you do not wear the blue!"

"I will wear the blue," Aranwen vowed through her teeth, holding out her hand, demanding that she have her treasure back.

"When, Aranwen?" Rhian asked, finally addressing Aranwen with her true name. "When the Saxons raid our villages? There is no time, Aranwen. You do not know them… you have never seen them. You have not witnessed the terrors… they are barbarians, Aranwen. They do not negotiate peace. There are only two of your father's knights who can still fight… our land has no leader – one is dead and the other is dying."

"Merlin is dying?" Aranwen asked, alarmed by the sudden news. Rhian nodded.

"Do you not here the rasp in his voice. Do you not see his limp as he walks… each breath he takes is a burden. Arrian will take his place… but Arrian is not wise nor is he strong. Soon… soon we will hear their battle drums. They will burn our forests… they will burn our villages… they will kill us all…" Aranwen took the girl's hand and squeezed it tightly in her own.

"The child you carry is of barbaric blood…" she said quietly. Rhian snarled at her and swiped at her face with her long, dirtied fingernails. Rhian let out a banshee's shriek and fell to the ground, grinding her face into the dirt in a savage manner, smearing the dirt across her face.

"Get out of here!" she screamed.

"No… Rhian… I meant no insult by it!" Aranwen cried, pulling the older girl from the ground and holding her close even as Rhian struggled. Rhian's sobs stopped suddenly and she slid to the ground a second time.

"I will not give back your mother's trophy… I will throw it in the fire so its ashes may be free in the wind as your mother is. You train, Aranwen… learn as it was your wish was it not when you came here? Merlin is old and will not be here for very long. Learn and live while you can. The final battle will ensure our ends for there will be no other like it in our lifetime… no go, go Aranwen. Sleep now while your dreams echo the happier things…"

"Happiness is no longer present in my thoughts, Rihian, much less my dreams."

"Aye, but worse things are still to come."


End file.
